


TATTOOS

by adronitis (orphan_account)



Category: Supernatural, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-01
Updated: 2013-09-01
Packaged: 2017-12-25 07:46:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/950534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/adronitis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Laura was done moving around, and when she finally settled down she knew there was only one thing she could bear doing for the rest of her life.</p><p>"You're... you're naming your Tattoo Parlor, <i>'TATTOOS'</i>?" Derek raised a skeptical eyebrow at the neon sign in the window of his sister's new shop.</p><p>"Remember when we were kids and dad got us that goldfish and I named it <i>'Goldfish'</i>? How did you <i>not</i> see this coming?! I have a history of naming things poorly," Laura chuckled and hooked her arm around her brother's neck, yanking him through the door with her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	TATTOOS

The tambourine shook from where it was hanging right above the door. Derek’s brow scrunched up further each time a customer entered or left the parlor. He hated working the front, but since he didn’t have any appointments all day he really didn’t have a choice. Just then, Laura emerged from the back room chugging a jug of orange juice during one of the only breaks she had all day between clients. 

“You’re gonna get acid reflux,” Derek deadpanned as she moved past him in a blur.

“This is why you never became a doctor, Derry. Gotta have my Vitamin C! Try it, the pulp might help with your constipation,” Laura’s cackle rang through the empty shop and Derek was glad they were the only ones around on Thursday mornings.

Derek scowled at his sister, “I’m not constipa— you know what, whatever. Go ahead and drown yourself in Sunny D, see if I care.”

“Oh my god Derbear, you’re a genius!” Laura reached over the glass display Derek was seated behind and pulled a pocket-sized notebook from between a couple of portfolios on a shelf. She flipped to a blank page and mumbled as she wrote, “Drowwnned… in a pooool… of sun-knee deee… PERFECT!"

Derek snorted as his sister slotted the book back into place, “Who does that? Who thinks up and then records strange ways of dying?”

“I do, Erek. Deal with it,” Laura stood in front of him for a moment with her hands on her hips before twirling around at the sound of the tambourine shaking violently on its flimsy-looking string.

Derek watched his sister usher her client back to her work station and get them settled in before starting on their session. As ridiculous as his older sister could be, there was nothing more impressive than her at work. She inked skin like the machine was an extension of her hand. Derek could never get tired of watching her concentrating on a job. If only she’d stayed that way.

When the tambourine shook precariously again, Derek realised he’d lost twenty minutes watching the repetitive motion of needle on skin. He spun around ready to greet who he assumed was a walk-in, when he stopped himself short.

The kid standing in the middle of his sister’s Tattoo Parlor looked far too small in his clothes. The damp flannel shirt drooped such that the cuffs covered most of his hands. The bottoms of his baggy jeans were pooling around his ankles and his buzzed haircut only made him look younger.

Derek watched him smack his lips together absentmindedly, looking around rapidly at everything and nothing, all at once. The kid finally met his gaze and opened his mouth to speak.

“No,” Derek cut him off.

“No?” The kid took a step forward and Derek cringed at the squelching sound it made on the floor tiles.

Derek noticed the way the kid was squaring his shoulders, “How old are you?”

“Eighteen,” he’d said it far too quickly for Derek to believe it to be true.

“Eighteen in how many days?”

The kid paused, shuffling slightly in the small puddle of water at his feet, “Uh… well, a week.”

“Then come back in a week,” Derek looked back down then to the open sketchbook on the counter in front of him.

Derek was about to reach for his pencil when there was another squelch, “But I have a question.” Derek stopped mid-reach and looked up silently imploring the kid to go on and ask his question. “You know, for a friend. And there’s no minimum age for making inquiries… right?”

Noting the slight tremble in the kid’s voice, Derek wondered if he should turn down his scowl or turn up the heater, “Your _friend_?”

“Yeah. My friend, who can’t be here right now,” the kid squinted at Derek, his warm honey-brown eyes ablaze with a defiance that dared Derek to poach the subject further.

“ _Uh-huh, sure._ What does your friend wanna—”

The kid was at the display case in a matter of seconds, gazing into its depths, “What’s that? What’re all of these?”

Derek took in the kid’s frame up-close and was surprised to notice broad shoulders and slightly muscled arms. “Piercings. Most of our metal’s stainless steel but if you— I mean, if _your friend_ wanted, Erica could get something else in. She’s our piercer. She only comes in on Mondays, Fridays, and weekends though.”

“And those?” Derek turned his gaze to where the kid was now pointing at a different shelf.

“Plugs, gauges, whatever you call them. Laura’s got a thing about getting the rarer ones in since she has stretched ears herself. We’ve got a bunch made of polymers but we’ve also got wood, glass, bone—” Derek stopped himself, realising how much he had just told to a complete stranger. _This clientless funk was finally getting to him._

“Who’s Laura?”

“I’m Laura!” The voice yelled over an endless buzz that was probably Laura’s tattoo machine. Derek heard the distinctive roll of wheels over linoleum as Laura appeared at the doorway between the front and the tattooing area, “Who’s babyface? And why is there a minor in my shop, Derrrr?”

“I’m not a minor,” Laura chuckled at the kid’s insistence.

“You’re a minor,” Derek replied flatly.

“Fine, by like seven days!”

Laura gasped and moved towards the kid, keeping her ink-stained gloves out of reach, “OH MY GOD, WHOOP-DER-IT-IS—”

“—No,” Laura turned to look directly into her brother’s sullen face.

“Well you’ll have to like one _eventually_ , I can’t just keep calling you by different nicknames for the rest of our lives! Eventually, one’s gonna stick. And when it does, Derrida, you’re gonna love it!”

“I doubt that,” Derek returned the kid’s curious gaze with his own agitated one.

“Right so, let me get this straight, Derek Hale (my little brother, hater of all things, sulker of all realms) has _knowingly_ been talking to a _known minor_ in my Tattoo Parlor for ten minutes?!” Laura leaned her elbows on the glass display case and rested her chin on the relatively clean backs of her gloved hands, “How do you do it Bambi? Teach me your ways.”

“Geez Laura, don’t name it. We’re not keeping it,” Derek cringed as his sister continued to give the kid doe eyes.

“ _It_ is right here, and _it_ actually just needed to use your phone… My jeep broke down up the road and your shop was the first one I literally ran into. Sorry,” Derek noticed the kid shifting his weight from side to side as he avoided both his and Laura’s eyes.

“Here Bambi, phone’s all yours,” Laura gestured to the cordless phone behind the counter and Derek handed it over without being asked.

“Thanks,” the simultaneous sad squelch of soaked sneakers and rickety roll of a wheeled stool sounded loud in the suddenly quiet space.

The god awful jangling of that damn tambourine broke the silence, drowning out the soft mumbling voice from the corner of the front room. Heavy biker boots thumped into the parlor, followed by a pair of lighter feet in Birkenstock sandals. The kid squelched his up to Derek just as Dean and Cas rounded the display case to Derek’s side of the counter.

“Thanks again, I’m just gonna wait here if that’s cool,” Dean perked at the kid’s voice, choosing to hang around a little before heading to the back room.

“Who’s Bambi?” Cas cuffed Dean on the back of his head and moved him aside so he could reach for his own sketch book up on a shelf, and a stool to sit on. “Ow! Jesus, fine, no name calling. Who’s the kid?

Derek paused, realising he didn’t even have his name. He shrugged, “Don’t know.”

Dean sauntered from around the counter and approached the kid where he was sitting on a bench, flipping through a portfolio. “That’s all script. Cas drew it mostly, he’s our script guy,” Dean vaguely gestured behind him to where he knew his boyfriend was paying no attention to him or the kid. “If you’re more into portraits, I’d be the guy for you. Name’s Dean,” Dean stretched his hand out and Derek watched as the kid cautiously accepted the offered handshake. “Anything with vivid colours or wild shapes, or really anything remotely crazy, then Laura’s your girl.”

The kid shut the portfolio then, replacing it on the coffee table. “What about you?”

Derek remained suspended in the silence, finally looking up when he realised the question was aimed am him, “Me?”

The kid nodded.

Derek stared at him for longer than he knew was normal. He felt a strange warmth grow inside of him with each moment the kid’s piercing gaze remained fixed on him. How was he supposed to answer that? How was _Derek supposed to tell this complete stranger, whose name he still didn’t know, that he really didn’t have a specialty?_ He could draw, sure. He’d done a couple sleeves in his so-far short career, but really, Derek didn’t have a style yet. It seemed like every time he tried to create one, he’d just be reminded of how horrible he was at this. _What was Derek even doing here?_

“—rek, Derek, _Derek_ ,” breaking the stare, Derek turned to Cas who was gently nudging his shoulder, “Are you all right?” The man looked at him, softly and knowingly. Derek flushed and looked away, grateful for not having shaved in the last week.

“I—” Derek’s words were cut off by the lights flashing right outside of the Tattoo Parlor.

The kid turned then, noticing the lights too, “ _Shit_! Sorry guys, gotta go.”

“NICE MEETIN’ YA BAMBI! DON’T GET INTO ANY MORE TROUBLE, ’KAY!” Laura’s voice carried over the monotonous buzz from the back room as the kid skidded out the front door.

Dean held the door open and from where he was standing, Derek could see the county’s Sheriff standing by the open driver’s side door of his cruiser. The kid was fidgeting with the buttons of his shirt, finally getting them undone and peeling the damp cloth off. The Sheriff tossed him a dry shirt that looked identical except this one was blue, and Derek watched, unable to turn away, as the muscles on the kid’s forearms flexed while he maneuvered the dry flannel shirt on.

The door shut abruptly and Dean whistled low and long, making his way back to where Cas was sketching. He leant over the display case with his elbows on the counter, “Dodged a bullet there, huh Derek.”

“That is not very helpful, Dean,” Cas spoke while concentrating on his hand which kept moving in measured curves, forming letters across the blank page.

“Yeah, guess not,” Dean drummed his fingers on the counter briefly before leaning forward and pressing a kiss on Cas’ forehead, along his hairline, “I’m gonna go set up my work station, babe.”

Cas hummed noncommittally, never once taking his eyes away from his work.

**Author's Note:**

> You can give me your thoughts/comments/ideas and I'll see how far this story goes. It'll be erratically updated, as and when the mood to write this AU strikes me. So your encouragement would probably make me write quicker, but still that's not a promise, just speculation.
> 
> I'll try my best C:


End file.
